tear stained letters written in shaking hands
by gallaghergrl
Summary: "During funerals most loved ones cry, feeling pity for the poor soul who thought that death was the only way. Some though, feel the only feeling a left behind person can feel: pissed off as hell." AU: -rated for language/concept-
1. to gone, from still fucking here

**tear** _stained_ letters

_(you selfish bitch, if you're not sorry now, you sure as hell will be)_

**[Suicide:]** The act in which one selfish bitch leaves behind her best goddamn friend alone in the world with out a thought. Something only a douche does.

Word Usage: Skye committed suicide on the 12th of November in the year 2011, like a little shit who doesn't care about the poor fuckers she left behind.

-From the mind of Massie Block

* * *

Dear S,

You selfish little bitch. I hope you die, oh wait, you already did. And you left me behind. The bullet took two lives, but only one body. Hope you know that bitch.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Did you ever think about anyone else, or was your pain the only one that matter, huh? Fuck you, for the rest of your afterlife.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I hope you're happy. I hope you have everything you goddamn wanted. I hope wherever you are, is better than this hellhole. I hope you know, you fucking took my hope with you.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

How long were you planning? How long did you sit there and think about it? How many times when we were sitting on the cliffs, did you think about leaning forward and off? How many times did you want to over-dose when we were popping pills? How many days did you want to leave me, you little selfish shit. How many?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

You're pathetic.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

You thought it was hard living life before? Try now. Try living it like I am. That's hard bitch. That's fucking hard.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I wish you'd come back. So I could fucking beat your selfish ass up. But I can't; because you're gone. And you're never coming back.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Do bitches go to heaven? I wish you hell, but I don't want you there. Maybe because you're so goddamn you, that they'll make an exception and let you in, up at heaven. I imagine they would, you're Skye Hamilton, for god's sake.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Do you ever watch us down here? What do you see? Do you see your ever-high boyfriend smoking off his pain. Do you see your parents trying to buy the whole world up, one business at a time, since they can't buy you back? Do you see me popping pills like I've never done anything else in my life? Do you see me, one drunk hook up after another, with all your old ones, hoping it'll bring me close to you. Do you see me at the cliff where we used to get stone, wishing the wind would' blow me off it for once? Do you see me? Do you even look for me? Because I look for you all the time, but all I ever find is dust.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Suicide is for the weak, you pathetic bitch. Didn't we agree years ago we'd never be weak?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Would you write back for once in you're damn life? Oh right, its not life anymore, its cold hard empty death. You're dead. How could I ever forget?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Do you even regret it?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I got so high, I thought I saw you for a second, just a blonde shining glimmer and bright blue eyes, and then nothing. Just like what I'm left with, nothing.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I wonder how a person sells there soul, if they don't have one. I think mine is gone, but I was thinking maybe if I found it, I could sell it, so I could see you again.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I heard some bitch in the hallway at the hellhole of a school we used to go to sometimes whisper to her friend when she saw me. Wonder what she was saying. Something along the lines of, "That's the Block whore, I hear she hasn't been sober since the funeral". The bitch is wrong. I got high before the funeral, and I get sober enough each day to write you're fucking letters, so my hands won't shake so much.

-M


	2. to left, from the following

**scraps** of [white] _floating_ paper

_(did, you think that the world would really keep spinning after you left whore?)_

**[Crying:] **The act in which one worthless twit proves just how breakable she really is. Something only weak bitches do.

Word Usage: Massie refused to cry, like the god stubborn bitch she is, no matter the fact her best friend was dead; the amber eyes girl hadn't shed a tear since before the funerl. Except when high, stones, blazed, baked, or writing her daily letters.

-From the mind of Massie Block

* * *

Dear S,

According to the therapy crap that the overpaid sissy, my mother sent me to, said, it's suppose to be getting easier, not harder. Obviously that was a waste of money, since the damn whore wasn't even right.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

We lost out virginities the same night, remember? We planned it out, found the two hottest guys at the club, and promised to meet up in the morning for breakfast and all the details. We were 14, sneaking in on fake Id's and good looks alone. I got scared though, remember that? I almost didn't want to go through with it. But you reminded me that in a way we were doing this together. That this way we didn't have do it alone. Well what fucking changed? What changed from three years ago to now? Bitch, I would have been scared, but I would have gone too. Now I can't because everyone's got me under a goddamn microscope and I can't even sneak out if I wanted too. Why the hell didn't you take me with you?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I'm tired of life. And nightmares are haunting me. Fuck, it's all your fault.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I can't sleep anymore. & I can't swallow food. & Sometimes I feel like I can't breath. Are you happy with what you've done?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I'm still scarred, and the nightmare won't leave. Come back, bitch, I need you.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I miss you, bitch, I do.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

… What am I even so suppose to say anymore?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I think about that night all the time. What did you think about as it was happening? Not me apparently. Maybe your whore mother and bastard father you wanted to spite? Well guess what bitch, I wanna fuck my 'rents over too, but that doesn't mean I have to screw over my best mother fucking friend to do it. I thought we we're sister.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I gave myself my first cut today. Was going to make is in the shape of an "S", but it hurt too much and there was too much blood, and I had to get cleaned up before someone saw me.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

My arm fucking hurts, and the band-aid I put on won't stay down, so I keep seeing the fucking scar that's starting to form. It looks a bit more like a retarded slash then an "S".

-M

* * *

Dead S,

My parents noticed my arm. More accurately, my maid saw it and told them, the slut. She's the one sleeping with my William, that I was telling you about, weeks and weeks agi. Kendra just shook her head and said she was too busy to "deal with this shit". William just gave me this look. I don't even know what it was suppose to mean.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

If you weren't dead all ready, someone would think you'd have to die of guilt.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

Is it self-destruction is someone else caused it?

-M

* * *

Dear S,

I'm scared, but I'm trying so say "_fuck this shit_" and be brave.

-M

* * *

Dear S,

How would you like to see me again real soon? I think you might.

-M


	3. to departed, from broken hearted

**{if you're smart}**

* * *

_Just because we're out of school doesn't mean your lessons don't come back to haunt you. You should have known better._

* * *

There are two girls and one boy.

If you're any good at math you know the basic concept.

The equation will always equal three broken hearts plus some remainders.

* * *

Mix in beautiful faded beach house on the shore of a gleaming azure ocean and some warm nights of skies glittering with fireworks.

If you're any good at science you understand the obvious idea.

That summertime somehow has an effect at increasing crazed hormones.

* * *

June, July, and August.

If you're any good at history you know the significance of those months.

Those are the months are love, of marriage, and hopeless flings.

* * *

But if your true acumen lays in literature you'll know the rest means nothing without the details.

Dune Baxter is a wonderous boy full of adventure, but he's not the brightest.

Kristen Gregory is a brilliant girl, with a massive knowledge of most thins, but she lacks certain common sense.

And Massie Block is a sparkling whirlwind fueled by curiousity, but she's not always the wisest.

Those facts should be enough to make it clear they're not cleverest. They're not aware of what I'm sure any outsider is sure to see. Poor fools, they didn't stand a chance.

* * *

_Girls will love boys, and a boy will love girls, nobody will ever be able to choose._

_Complex, confusing, conflicting, perhaps; but it doesn't take a fucking genius to realize that love triangles just aren't solvable._


End file.
